Wallpaper with Roses

by Jenny Andersen

  Sarah nodded. “Yes. I’m going to Wilson’s for a few hours. It’s kind of a rush job, so I’d better get started.”

  Oh, that wasn’t good. What about her regular job? “Won’t Homer get angry if you don’t get to work on time?”

  “Mama.”

  Sarah’s all too familiar tone told her she’d messed up again. Pretty soon she wouldn’t dare say anything. Much better to just smile and say nothing. Especially when she didn’t hear or couldn’t understand, which was happening far too often now.

  “I don’t work for HE&M anymore,” Sarah said, a trace of impatience in her voice.

  When had that happened? But clearly she was supposed to remember. “Of course, dear. I suppose my brain just isn’t awake yet.” If only it were that easy.

  “Christine is here if you need anything. I’ll be back in time to fix lunch.” Sarah bent to kiss her cheek.

  Funny. She didn’t remember that her daughter was that much taller than she. She must be shrinking more than she realized. Well, that was unavoidable. Might as well just live with it. Just like everything else.

  She hobbled down the hall to the library. To Sarah’s office, it was now. When she got there, she sank into the chair behind the desk. Much easier to get out of than the big leather chairs that Eldon had loved. Sweet of Sarah to have kept the room so much the same when she took it over as an office. Strange to think of her little girl all grown up and needing an office.

  Violet popped her head in the door. “Hilda? Oh, there you are.”

  Hilda started, and realized she’d been dozing. She was as bad as the cat curled up in the patch of sunlight on the desk. “Good morning, Violet. I was just going to make a phone call.”

  “I’m going to take Miranda’s breakfast up to her. You know how she loves breakfast in bed, and Christine should have it ready by now.”

  Hmph. Queen Miranda. “You shouldn’t be waiting on her.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind. And we certainly don’t want Christine running up and down all the time.” Violet flapped a hand, brushing off the whole problem, and left.

  Hilda looked at the phone. Had she intended to use it? Who on earth might she have planned to call? She stared at the phone, squatting blackly on the corner of the desk, defying her to remember.

  She couldn’t remember. She ought to have those tee shirts that people seemed to wear so often these days, with some writing that she couldn’t ever read. Only hers would say, ‘I don’t remember.’

  Well, brooding about it wasn’t going to help anything, even if it was her worst, most secret fear, that she was getting senile. Every time she said something that was obviously wrong and saw that kind, hurt look in Sarah’s eyes, or heard the gentle note in her voice, the one that was worse than impatience, the fear twisted its talons in her middle.

  She stared at the phone again.

  Inspiration struck. She could call the furniture store. She fished around in her mind for the name. Eckert’s, that was it, Eckert’s Furniture and Appliance. She’d order a crib for Christine’s baby. Yes. She bent and opened the drawer where the phone book had been kept ever since she and Eldon had moved into this house when they were first married.

  The book was much bigger now, and it was hard to lift, but finally it lay on the desk in front of her. Now, why had it seemed so important to get it out?

  She leafed through the pages, bending close to read the print. Where was the magnifying glass? Oh yes, right here in the center drawer, as always.

  Part way through the yellow pages, she hit the word ‘furniture’ in large print and remembered. A crib.

  Humming happily, she dialed.

  “Eckert’s,” a chirpy voice answered. “This is Anna. How can I help you?”

  Resisting the urge to correct the girl’s grammar, Hilda said, “Good morning. This is Hilda Gault. I would like to order a—a—” Her mind went blank. She swallowed against the panic that bloomed through her. “A fridge. Yes. I would like to have a refrigerator delivered as soon as possible.”

  Anna asked a dozen questions that Hilda managed to answer, insisted on consulting some records, just as though the Gaults hadn’t been customers for years, and finally agreed to have a refrigerator delivered that afternoon.

  There. Wouldn’t Sarah be surprised?

  ****

  Sarah let herself into the house at noon. She’d have to rush to get lunch ready. One thing she’d noticed about the moms, they had flawless internal clocks. They were every bit as good as Fred and Casey when it came to meals. Her mother didn’t eat as much as a canary, but she still wanted to be at the table on time.

  “You were at Wilson’s this morning, weren’t you? Did you find anything wrong?” Miranda asked when they were all gathered around the table.

  “Now, Miranda,” Sarah said. “Confidentiality.”

  “I’m one of the investors.” Miranda looked down her nose, the haughty look that Sarah hadn’t seen much lately.

  “Well, then,” Sarah answered. “You’ll be getting the auditor’s report, won’t you?” She tried to soften the answer with a smile, but for a moment feared a Queen Miranda tantrum the likes of which they hadn’t seen for...gosh, a couple of months now.

  Miranda smiled. “You’re right, Sarah. Forgive me. I wouldn’t think much of you if you talked out of school. Hilda, will you be ready by two?”

  Sarah’s heart plummeted at the blank look on her mother’s face. Poor Mama. She hated these forgetful moments so much, and Sarah didn’t have a clue what Miranda had planned, so she couldn’t help.

  But Miranda’s new, kindly personality didn’t falter. “We’re going down to the church,” she said, apparently to Sarah. “To arrange the flowers for a wedding tomorrow.”

  “Yes, you remember, don’t you, Hilda?” Violet chirped.

  “Of course I remember,” Hilda said, although Sarah could tell that she didn’t. “I’ll be ready as soon as I change clothes.” She rose and stumped out of the room with her walker.

  Violet broke the uncomfortable silence. “I’d better just run up and change, too. Are you coming, Miranda?”

  When they had gone, Sarah looked across the table at Christine. “I’ll do the dishes. You take a nap.”

  Christine yawned. “I guess I’d better. Thank you.” She stacked plates and waddled to the kitchen with them.

  “Shoo,” Sarah said, when she reached the kitchen and found Christine rinsing dishes.

  The girl acted as though she were a servant, Sarah mused as she finished rinsing dishes and set them in the dishwasher. A servant present on sufferance. Well, that had to change, and before that baby was born.

  She finished the dishes and went to her office. Might as well get the Wilson report done while everything was fresh in her mind. Mr. W. would be happy to know that his books were in wonderful shape. HE&M had done the work, of course. Fortunately he hadn’t been one of Sarah’s clients, so there couldn’t be any conflict of interest. And his outside auditors weren’t going to find any problems because there weren’t any to find.

  A couple of hours later, just as she typed the last sentence and sent the document to the printer, a huge truck backed into the driveway.

  Now what?

  Miranda’s car pulled in nose to nose with the truck, and she got out, looking irritated. “What is that truck doing in our driveway,” she demanded as soon as Sarah reached the car.

  “No idea,” Sarah said, opening the doors for her mother and Violet. “It just got here.”

  The driver climbed out of the truck and walked up to them. “Gault?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Sarah said. “But we didn’t order anything.”

  He waved a bundle of papers. “Got an order here for a refrigerator.”

  A refrigerator? They didn’t need a new refrigerator. “No.”

  “Ordered by phone. Hilda Gault.” He looked at Sarah, stubborn as a bull. That you?”

  Sarah’s heart plummeted. “No.” She turned to look at her mother. “Did you order a ref
rigerator from Eckert’s today, Mama?”

  “Of course not,” Hilda said indignantly. “I ordered a crib as a surprise for Christine.”

  Sarah took the paperwork and read it with growing dread. Crib. Fridge. She’d bet anything it had been one of those senior moments. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her mother leaning shakily on her walker. “Miranda, could you and Violet help Mama inside, please?”

  She turned to the delivery man. “It’s a mistake, Al,” she said, using the name embroidered on his shirt. “I don’t know who made it, but you’ll have to take it back to the store. I’ll call and get it straightened out.”

  Eventually Al agreed and left. After Sarah had fetched Miranda to move her car and listened to Al’s complaints about customers and Miranda’s about modern businesses, she went inside to talk to her mother. “Mama?” she called.

  “She’s in her room,” Violet said. “She’s quite tired after our outing. You know, Sarah dear, I’m afraid she is not aging well.”

  No kidding. “I’m afraid you’re right, Violet. I do appreciate the way you and Miranda look out for her.”

  Violet gave her a conspiratorial smile and stole away without saying anything.

  Sarah went upstairs and peeked into her mother’s room. Hilda was sound asleep. Sarah went back downstairs and called the furniture store.

  After a long, involved talk with Anna, Anna’s boss, and finally Mr. Eckert, she’d managed to cancel the order, negotiate a reasonable payment for the failed delivery, assure Anna that they’d pick out a crib in person, and thank Mr. Eckert for his sympathy.

  She put the phone down and sighed. Just as she’d suspected. So now she had a new worry. What else might her mother order? Well, at least she wasn’t on the Internet, with its wealth of things to buy.

  She checked her watch. Just enough time to hit the grocery store. The list on the refrigerator door gave her a pang when she saw how shaky her mother’s writing had become.

  At the door, she almost collided with Rob. “You’re early.”

  “Al told me some story about delivering a refrigerator here, and I thought I’d better find out what really happened.

  Sarah led him back to the kitchen and handed him a soda. While she fixed a sandwich, she filled him in on the afternoon’s fiasco.

  He frowned. “She’s getting worse.”

  No shit, Sherlock. “Yes. She’s getting worse.”

  “I suppose Mum and Miranda can still manage when you’re not here.”

  “I think so. For now, at least. I’ll have to be careful from now on and make sure one of us is always home.” She rested her chin on her hands and closed her eyes.

  “The downhill slide is hard on everyone, Sarah. Don’t forget you’ve got us all to help.”

  Sarah swallowed a rush of relief. “Us,” he’d said. “Thanks, Rob. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  “I get something out of this, too, you know.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t worry so much about Mum these days.” He chopped the words off and bent to ruffle Casey’s ears.

  What had he been so careful to not say? She started to ask, but the old saw about looking a gift horse in the mouth stopped her. “I’d better get to the grocery while everyone’s napping,” she said, and left, trying not to worry about what she’d do without his help.

  Chapter 15

  “Sarah?”

  Sarah looked up when her mother came into the kitchen. “You’re early for dinner, Mama.” She wiped her hands and crossed the room for a hug. “Did you have a good nap?”

  “Like a log.” Hilda settled herself at the table. “It seems like sleep is the only thing I can do right these days.” Her voice was bitter.

  Sarah put down the knife she’d been using to slice carrots and sat. “Hey. What’s this about?”

  “That business with the refrigerator this afternoon. I was so sure I’d ordered a crib.”

  “It’s not important, Mama. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Don’t be silly, Sara. Of course I’m going to worry about losing my mind.”

  This was the matter-of-fact, sensible parent Sarah had always depended on and loved, but she had no idea how to respond to such a statement. “You’re just a little forgetful at times. We all are.”

  “No specious reassurances, please. I know what I did today. Tomorrow I might not remember, but right now I do. I think that you need to be sure that I’m not left alone to do things like that anymore, dear.”

  How many times could a heart break? Sarah looked at her mother’s dear face, worn and lined with worry now. “Oh, Mama,” she said.

  “You know I’m right.”

  Sarah laced her fingers together and stared at them. “I love you, Mama.”

  “I know, dear. And you’re very good to me. That makes me feel cherished, and it makes being a burden on you that much worse.”

  “You are not a burden. Don’t talk like that. You could never be a burden.”

  Her mother smiled, that mother-knows-best-now-don’t-argue smile that Sarah remembered from childhood, and struggled to her feet. “You’re a good girl.”

  After her mother left the kitchen, Sarah went back to slicing carrots. After a few minutes she gave up pretending she wasn’t crying and wiped her eyes.

  Christine came into the kitchen, tying an apron around her bulging middle. “What’s wrong, Sarah?”

  “Oh, just the old-age thing,” Sarah said. “Of all times for her memory to be perfect, my mother remembers about this afternoon, and she’s worried sick about being senile.”

  “Hard. Here, give me that knife before you slice a finger in with the vegetables.” Christine bumped Sarah aside with her hip and took over the slicing and chopping. “Go do something harmless.”

  Miranda came into the kitchen. “Is there any sherry, Sarah? This seems like a good evening for some.”

  Sarah got the bottle down and set in on a tray. “The glasses are in—”

  “Yes, I know. In the dining room.”

  “Is Mama with you?”

  “Yes. We’re going to sit in the conservatory until dinner is ready.” Miranda swept out of the room.

  Christine giggled. “Queen Miranda strikes again.”

  Sarah laughed.

  Christine clapped a hand over her mouth. “She’s really very sweet, you know. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “Relax. I know. She’s really mellowed since she moved in here. But we can’t expect the tiger to change her spots completely.”

  “That’s leopard, I think.” Her gaze met Sarah’s and a grin dimpled her cheek.

  Sarah laughed.

  Rob tapped at the door and came in. “Sounds happy in here.”

  “Dinner’s about ready. I’m going to mash the potatoes. Rob, the moms are in the conservatory.”

  “I’ll do the water glasses,” Christine said, and followed Rob out.

  Miranda sailed into the kitchen. “Sarah,” she said, and paused, making the moment dramatic.

  “Yes, Miranda?” Sarah pounded at the potatoes with the masher.

  “Violet and I have been talking with your mother,” Miranda said. “And we have decided.”

  Oh, God. Now what? She hunched her shoulders, waiting. “Yes?”

  “Your mother should not be left alone for long periods of time,” Miranda announced. “I hope you do not disagree from any feelings of false pride.”

  “No.”

  “Good. We thought it best to inform you of our plans.”

  Was she supposed to be upset? What she was, was thankful she had people to help. Assuming of course that their plans weren’t Violet-inspired weirdness. “And your plans would be?”

  “For one of us to be around so that your mother isn’t left alone too much. Since there are five of us, we should be able to manage. And since we all live here, it should be unobtrusive enough that your mother won’t feel she’s being watched. She knows what we’ll be doing, of course, but don’t wan
t her to feel like a prisoner.”

  Who would have believed that Miranda could be so sensitive? “That’s perfect, Miranda. I was going to ask you if you could help me do just that. Except that Rob doesn’t live here.”

  “He’s here every night, until goodness knows how late. That’s good enough. Although, if he were to move in...”

  Sarah almost dropped the potatoes. “Uh,” she stammered.

  “I’m glad you agree,” Miranda said. “It’s all settled then.” She swept out of the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

  If Rob were to move in... If Rob...

  Christine hustled back into the kitchen. “Sarah! You’ve pounded those potatoes half to death. Let’s get dinner served. I told Rob to get everyone into the dining room.”

  Sarah handed her the mistreated potatoes and took the chicken from the oven. She and Christine and the food made it to the table just as Rob finished seating Miranda.

  Chicken, potatoes, gravy, green beans, cole slaw. Sarah had remembered everything, everyone was present, no problems. They were getting good at this family meal thing. It felt like they really were a family.

  If only it could last.

  ****

  “Are you going to the grocery now?” Christine asked Sarah two weeks later.

  “On my way. Where’s the list?”

  “Refrigerator door.”

  “Not here.”

  “Maybe your mother doesn’t have it ready yet,” Christine said. “She was working on it in your office.” She started to rise.

  “Don’t get up. I’ll get it.” Sarah set her purse on the table and went down the hall. Her mother wasn’t in the office, but the list lay on the desk. She picked it up and tried to read it as she walked back to the kitchen. The shaky writing was almost impossible to decipher and words ran off the margins.

  “Milk,” she said to Christine. “Ong mmm? And this looks like roller skates. Oh, dear. Can you translate any of this?” She thumped into a chair next to Christine and put the list on the table. They bent over it and managed to come up with a reconstructed list.

  “I don’t think your mother can do the lists anymore,” Christine said tentatively. “Do you think she’ll mind if I do it instead?”